Whispers in the Dark
by Aelan Greenleaf
Summary: Companion piece to 'Tea Bags and Soliloquies'. Five men think to them themselves during the night. A five part series of vignettes. HP, SB, RL, RW, SS [Part Two Up 11.22]
1. Things Worth Fighting For

**Title: Whispers in the Dark**

**Author: Aelan Greenleaf**

**Category: Angst, Romance**

**Rating: K+**

**Summary: Companion piece to 'Tea Bags and Soliloquies'. Five men think to them themselves during the night. A five part series of vignettes.**

**Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Severus Snape**

**A/N: BE FOREWARNED: This story is not completed. Regular updates will be infrequent. However, I _won't _abandon this story. I love it too much to do that.

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**Part One: Things Worth Fighting For

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Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Triwizard Champion, lay dying in the failing dusk. The field was quiet around him; everyone was gone to the night of black, beyond the veil. His hands and feet were numb, from the curse or from the cool breeze, he didn't know. Nor did he particularly care. He had more things to worry about then how cold he was.

Voldemort's empty shell lay nearby, he knew. He had sent him there himself, by his own wand and hand. The harsh sound of the killing curse had pierced the evening air, propelled by fear and anger and an unfailing courage. The Dark Lord had been overcome, simply and finally, just like that. Betrayed by a spell he had invented, by a hero he had created. Fate at its' best.

A spider crawled near his head, and the wind whistled by. Harry smiled as life continued on, even as his was ending. He felt light-headed, sore, but nothing else. The damage was internal, the hurt was inside, from the curse that had killed his enemy and from the piece of his soul he had given up to destroy him. Oh, and the repeated use of theCruciatus curse _may_ have inflicted some injuries as well.

The Final Battle was over. Forever. They were all safe, now. Ron and Hermione, together; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Remus and Mad-Eye and Bill and Dean and Luna and Neville. All of the Order, all of the world. The Dark Lord was defeated, and finally, there was peace.

His thoughts turned to Ginny, as the last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon. His beautiful, cunning, stunning, brilliant Ginny. Red hair flaming in the morning light, eyes dancing in the twinkle of the moon, heart beating as she pressed him against her, holding him safe in her arms. She too would be protected from evil now, for always.

Exhaustion ran through him, even now, even after all this time. The battle had been waged for so long, it had become a part of him, strange and alien, yet essential to his existence. Four years he had fought, four years he had endangered the lives of other in his quest to bring the good and right back to the world. Now, they were safe, and he was happy.

However, there was still sorrow and grief in his heart, as he thought of the things he would miss. Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks. The Burrow. Hogwarts. Ron's laugh. Hermione's smile. Mrs. Weasley's embraces. Ginny's touch. He would miss everything, as Ron and Hermione entered their life together, as the Weasley twins made their fortune, as the son he would never know grew up.

The dark crept in from the sky.

His child. Ginny's child. The boy born in the war, a beacon of hope and happiness. They had been too young, way too young. But somehow, strangely, it was right. It had brought purpose, it had brought meaning to Harry, as day after day after day in fought in so many bloody battles, where people died at any given moment and nobody could stop to care. Innocence and justice became just two more casualties, killed by the never ceasing hunger of war.

He hoped he would grow up good, and strong. He hoped the boy would be loved, he hoped the boy had every single happiness in the world, and would always feel wanted. He wanted his son to grow up in a world without pain, he wanted him to learn and play and go to school. He wanted him to be just another boy, just another wizard. He wanted him to be normal.

A star appeared above him, and suddenly, he couldn't breathe. The air caught in his lungs and it felt as if he was on fire. He gasped for oxygen, and finally, after an eternity, it came, sweet and cool. His head fell back down onto the grass, as lights danced in his vision. He closed them, savouring the respite of the dark.

It was harsh, somehow, that he wouldn't know his son, and that his son would not know him. History repeated itself, Voldemort killing Harry just like his parents before him. Two generations destroyed by the same man, orphaning one child and leaving another fatherless.

Harry's torso began to freeze, as he lost all feeling everywhere.

_So this is what it feels to die_, he thought to himself, even as he could feel his mind shutting down. He remembered everything in that infinitesimal moment, absolutely everything.

Drinking a disgustingly warm glass of milk at Dudley's third birthday party.

Hiding from a bully at seven.

Running from Dudley. Meeting Ron and Hermione. Finding the Chamber of Secrets. Laughing by the lake. Fighting the merpeople. Crashing the flying car. Talking with Cho. Kissing Ginny. Crying by Cedric's body. Dancing at Bill's wedding. Holding Tonks' lifeless body. The tragedies of war and the triumphs of life all came rushing back to him in an instant as he approached the threshold of death.

In the Department of Mysteries, deep within his mind, the veil shifted and opened, revealing everything. Harry Potter approached the edge. On the outside, his body began to seize up, convulsing, alone in the dark. But he was already gone, into the veil.

Somewhere else, a child cried out, and a hero passed into legend.


	2. Innocent Traitor

**Part Two: Innocent Traitor

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Sirius Black laid against the cold cement wall of his cell, as his half-lidded eyes barely registered his surroundings. In the flickering candle-light, he saw the outlines of the bars that held him in; he saw the silhouettes of his demon guards as they swept past, tattered robes of black sweeping behind them. He shivered, out of habit.

He assumed it was night; however, there was no real way for him to confirm his suspicions as there were no clocks, or Muggle watches, or even windows. Time was nothing but darkness inside the bowels of Azkaban.

Something drifted past the bars of his prison, and a plate appeared on the ground before him. _Was it that time already?_ he wondered, even as he pulled himself up and staggered over to the newly arrived dish. Picking it up, he moved back to his wall, not even reacting when a horrible scream of agony pierced the silence from only a few steps away.

Mechanically, and without feeling, he began to eat the slop that passed for edible fare here in the wizards' dungeon. Screams were nothing new to him, nor were the other sounds of human suffering that came to him through the eternal night. Soon they would fade away, for only the new prisoners ever reacted as so, when they still had some humanity left within them.

How long exactly he had been confined within these walls was a mystery, but he knew that it must be near a decade now. A decade that he had been locked up with murderers and betrayers, thieves and Death Eaters. One innocent man in a sea of guilty. Not that it mattered, of course. No one knew he wasn't guilty; no one knew that he hadn't been the one to betray James and Lily.

Sirious coughed, and he put the slop down onto the ground, no longer even remotely hungry. James and Lily, Harry and Remus, and that insidious bastard Wormtail were often at the forefront of his thoughts. So many times he had revisited that night in his mind, in his dreams. He remembered riding up on his motorbike, and seeing the end of everything; he could still see Harry dwarfed in Hagrid's huge arms, watching as his godson was taken away.

But most of all, he remembered finding Peter.

Peter, cowering. Peter, as Sirius yanked him out of hiding and threw him out on the street. Peter, grinning a split second before the night exploded and his memory went dark. Ten years later, Sirius Black was still angry and unforgiving, if only of himself.

Why had he suggested the change of Secret Keeper? Why had he been so completely confident that this was so obviously the best course of action, that no one would _ever_ think of Wormtail, and that James, Lily and their son would be so much better off? He had reassured them, even as James shook his head and Lily held Harry just a little closer. Her green eyes told him more than she could ever say, and yet he had just ignored their protests and pushed Peter towards them.

With that push, he had killed his best friends. The only man that he had ever trusted, the only woman he had ever truly loved. They were to him like siblings, but so much closer than that; they had been a part of him. He would have died for them; he _should_ have died for them. Sirius grimaced in the dim light, as yet another forgotten scream floated through the air.

And Harry. Just a boy, just a baby, just another innocent casualty of war. The child with the familiar black hair and glowing emerald eyes strayed constantly into the prisoner's thoughts. The boy saviour, the hero, the one who had ended the war. And yet all Sirious could think about was the fact that that child was an orphan, parents so cruelly taken away from him by another man's mistake.

Sirius Black slid down the wall and laid down on the cold, sticky floor of his cell, and gazed up, studying the imperfections in the ceilings and the pockmarks that were like tiny, dead stars in the sky. Stars whose light had been extinguished. Stars that had fallen from the heavens.

He was not prone to tears, but if he had been, he knew he would be sobbing by now. His heart clenched inside his chest as he thought of everything that had passed, and the things that would never be. Peter, the traitor, the scum that had life when James and Lily did not. Remus, outcast, a tortured soul that never stopped fighting for the world that hated him. Harry, his godson, forever alone.

Sirius clenched his fists, and a strange anger enveloped him. An anger, that he soon realized, borne of exasperation and helplessness. All of his life, Sirius had been part of the action, he had been there to help. Whether it was running with Moony under the moon's soft illumination or fighting back to back with James against the forces of evil, he had always been able to _be_ there.

And now, caught behind the walls of the world's greatest fortress, he couldn't be there.

A long moment passed. A sigh escaped his lips and he rolled back over onto his front and propped himself back up against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chin. His eyelids began to droop, and he was about to drop into the forgiving land of sleep when he heard a voice come from nearby.

A _human_ voice.

Quickly, he crawled over to the bars of his prison and tried to listen. Suddenly now, all the screams of horror and pain were so loud, he could barely hear. Straining, he finally managed to catch the conversation.

"-and yes, the last twelve years have been relatively calm. There's no need for worry."

Twelve years? Had he really been in here that long?

"Yes, of course, Minister."

The voices were coming closer. Sirius looked out, and he saw the Minister of Magic coming his way, companion beside him and the Daily Prophet tucked in underneath his arm. And the picture, on the top right corner... no... it wasn't possible.

No.

Cornelius Fudge was approaching now, and Sirius knew this was his only chance. He had to know.

"Minister, could I have a look at your paper?"

Fudge looked down at him, and when he registered Sirius Black's face, he couldn't help the revulsion and horror that came to his face. After all, he _had_ been there twelve years ago. However, he supposed, this man had gotten his due. He would, of course, be in here forever.

The Minister passed the paper down to Sirius without a word and walked away, flunky in tow. And Sirius Black, ultimate traitor of the wizarding world, understood. Peter Pettigrew was not dead. He wasn't dead.

But he soon would be. In the black night of Azkaban, Sirius Black formed a plot of revenge.


End file.
